Chapter Five
Bethany
"Are you sure?" Colton asked from over his shoulder.
The sun was very low on the horizon, and the dusky light made it hard to see. I squinted my eyes to sharpen my vision as I stared at the man. He was older than the man in the photographs I had kept in the bottom of my dresser drawer, hidden beneath a pile of socks, but I was sure.
Swallowing hard against the lump that risen in my throat, I nodded my head and said firmly, "Yes, that's him. That's Frank Hill, my father."
Colton nodded his head. "Yep, Frank Hill is the name of the laborer we hired last fall. He's been working on the ranch for the past ten months."
"That's my father. I haven't seen him since I was two years old, but my mother had several photographs of him that I used to stare at all the time. I'd know that face anywhere – even if it is nearly twenty years older."
"What are the odds of you finding him here?" Colton was amazed, and I had to confess truth.
"It's not as big a coincidence as you might think. When I turned twenty-one, I hired a private investigator to help me find him. I figured I was old enough to learn the truth about what had happened. The investigator tracked him down to a P.O. box in Riverbend, so I started posting jobs looking for work in the area."
"That's how Mama found the ad for you in the Penny Saver ," Colton said as if he had finally solved a deep mystery.
I nodded in affirmation. "When she called me up and asked me to come out to the ranch, it was the perfect excuse to come out and look for my dad. I looked all over town that first week I was here, but there was no sign of him. I finally gave up, and now it turns out he'd been working on the very ranch where'd I'd been staying for over a week."
"Do you want to talk to him alone or do you want me to stay here with you, right by your side?" Colton's concern was evident in his eyes, and my heart fluttered.
"Neither," I stated firmly. "Take me back to the ranch. I don't want to talk to him, at all. He abandoned me twenty years ago. It's enough for me now just to know where he is."
Colton didn't question me on my decision. He didn't try to pressure me into meeting my father. He just silently took me to the ranch house and helped me off his horse.
"Aren't you coming in for dinner?" I asked him as he took Whiskey by the reigns and started to walk away.
"I'll be in soon. I have to get Whiskey out of this saddle and put her to bed for the night."
"Just so long as you're not going back out to talk to Frank."
"I might stop by his place when I'm done just to have a little chat with the guy."
"Don't. Frank is my father, and when I'm ready to talk to him, I will. Until then, I don't want him knowing I'm here and I don't want anyone to know he's my father. It's nobody else's business. Got that?"
"Yes, ma'am," Colton said, and I realized just how bossy I was being and blushed.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to act that way. It's just this is a lot to process. Even though I came to Riverbend hoping to find him, I never really thought I would. I just need some time before I confront him, if I even decide to. If everybody else knows, he's sure to find out, and then I'll have to meet him whether I want to or not."
"You mean you might not even talk to him?" Colton sounded incredulous.
"Maybe. I don't know. What if he tells me he did leave because of me? What if he hates me or says he doesn't want to know me? I don't think I could handle that right now."
"You could handle anything." Colton winked at me, and I felt myself grow a little taller. "But whatever you decide to do is entirely up to you. I support your choice no matter what."
"Thanks." I beamed at him, and then watched him lead the quarter horse back to the stable.
That night at dinner, I could hardly eat.
"Are you okay, honey?" Margie asked me while her busy boys wolfed down their food all around me.
"Yes. I'm just tired. I think I'll go to bed early," I lied and excused myself up to the guest room. Once inside, I got out my cell phone and called the one person who could truly understand what it meant to have found my father.
"What is it?" My mother's voice answered her phone with her usual charm, instead of the more traditional greeting of hello. Jillian Foster was not known for her warmth.
"He's here. I found him," I said, with my heart in my throat.
"Who? Did you hook up with some guy?"
"No, Mom. Frank Hill. He's working here at the Hutchinson Ranch where I went to work for the summer."
"I told you never to mention that son-of-a-bitch by name." Mom was livid, and I had to pull the phone back from my ear.
"I know. I tried not to," I said, squirming where I was sitting on the bed. It didn't matter how grown up I was. I still hated being in trouble with my mother.
"Don't give me your lip. Did you go there looking for him? How did you know he was there? I told you not to try to find him," she shouted questions at me faster than I could answer. I just sat there silently, letting her rant until she ran out of steam. "He's no good, Bethany. Nothing that man has ever said or done was any good. Stay the hell away from him."
"He was good enough for you to fall in love with him once and decide to have a baby," I pointed out. It was the wrong thing to say. Mom went on for twenty minutes, telling me for the thousandth time what a miserable jerk my father was and how he had ruined her life and stranded her with a baby she didn't want.
"Stay away from him, Bethany. Don't talk to him. Don't tell him you're his daughter. Don't even let him learn your name. Get the hell off that ranch and come back home before he discovers you’re there, or he'll ruin your life, too, just like he ruined mine."
"I doubt he's going to strand me with a baby." I tried to lighten the mood with a little humor, but Mom wasn't laughing.
"I mean it. Come home – now."
"Well, I can't do that. I'm contractually obligated to complete the five paintings I promised to create. Margie Hutchinson already paid me half the money and will give the rest upon completion. If I left now, I'd have to pay her back the money, and I already spent most of it just getting out here."
"Leave it to you to be stupid enough to take a job that costs your entire paycheck just to travel to and from work. Idiot," Mom said bitterly.
I wanted to defend myself by telling her the reason I took the job was to find Frank Hill, so in that respect it was a success, but I decided to keep my mouth shut. She wouldn't understand.
I had thought that just maybe she would have been happy to hear that I had found him. Obviously, the reason she hated him so much was because she had loved him. The opposite of love isn't hate; it's apathy. Hate and love are both emotions based in passion, just like she felt for my father. It was part of the reason I wanted to meet him so badly, to see what had caused that passion and to learn if he was the reason I had a passion for art.
Now, I saw just how foolish it had been for me to think that she would be excited to learn I had found him. Her pain ran too deep, and now she was trying to mask that pain by lashing out at me with insults, just like she had done for my entire life.
"Goodbye, Mom." I decided it was time to end the conversation.
"I mean it, Bethany. Stay the hell away from that monster," she was still yelling into the phone.
"Don't worry, Mom. I will," I promised.
"When are you coming home?"
"My internship doesn't start until the fall." I said.
"I want you home sooner than that. When will you be done with this painting job?" Mama demanded and it wasn't worth fighting her on it.
"In about a month," I said, calculating that it took me about a week to complete a painting, allowing time for layers to dry between adding gradations of shadow of light. It was how I made the reflective surfaces of the window panes on the house look so clear, the water in the puddles appear to ripple, and the individual blades of grass appear to flow in the breeze. It took time to create such realism – but there was another reality I was about to learn about.
"That long?" Mom sounded disappointed, which surprised me and warmed my heart. But then she said, "There may not be a home to come to in a month."
"Why not?"
"The damn landlord says I'm a month behind on my rent. The bastard is threatening to evict me if I let it lapse into sixty days."
"Well, I won't get paid for the rest of the job until I'm finished. I'm sorry, Mom." It was just like her to blow her paycheck on alcohol and then blame the landlord.
"How about if I sell a few of your paintings?"
"I guess that would be okay," I said hesitantly. She wouldn't sell them to an art collector or dealer. She'd stand on the street corner and take bottom dollar for them. I had put my heart and soul into my paintings, but she was my mother and I couldn't let her wind up on the streets.
She cackled with glee and said, "Good because I already sold a few you left in your room. I was going through the storage shed yesterday and I found a bunch more. If I sell them, that will cover the rent. It's the least you can do after ruining my life. I could have had a career and been rich if I hadn't been stuck at home changing your diapers."
"Fine, Mom. Sell them all," I sighed. It was an old story, and I was sick of hearing it.
I felt utterly deflated. I'd come to Hutchinson Ranch with such hope. I was going to find Frank Hill living in Riverbend, tell my mother, she would praise me for a job well done, and we would all reunite.
I realized now what a ridiculous and childish fantasy that had been. My mother was right. I should stay far away from him, finish this job as fast as I could, and return home where I belonged.
The next day, I threw myself into my work, determined to forget all about Frank Hill and finish my work with record speed. I set up my easel and canvas outside the ranch house, facing the garden to the east of the stables, where Margie grew fresh vegetables.
She could often be found working out there, pulling weeds, watering the plants, and guarding against insects and rabbits. Thomas went out there early mornings before driving to the middle school, and again in the evenings, as the sun was setting. Apparently, he hadn't just inherited his mother's looks, but her green thumb, as well. I decided that would be the perfect painting to make for Margie's second-youngest son.
I tried to concentrate of the color of the soil, mixing browns with highlights and lowlights for that perfect illusion of earthiness. It was hard, though. My mind kept drifting to thoughts of my father.
What made him come to the ranch, and what had made him decide to stay? Did he ever think about me? Did he feel guilty for having left? What had made him do it, and did he have regrets? Did he ever remarry? Did I have half-siblings I knew nothing about?
"Penny for your thoughts," a familiar voice said, startling me from my thoughts. I snapped out of my daydream to look at Mack, one of the oldest employees of the ranch.
"I guess my mind just drifted there for a moment," I laughed awkwardly.
"What are making now?" he asked curiously.
Oliver Mackenzie had been working on the ranch since the Hutchinson boys were just kids. Everyone called him Mack, and I'd caught him watching me paint more than once. We got to talking one afternoon and became instant friends. He said I reminded him of his daughter Becky. With his crazy tales and weathered hands, he was just like the father I'd wished I had; although something told me Frank Hill was nothing like Mack.
Smiling at my friend, I said, "Oh, it's going to be Margie's garden, but right now I'm just forming the backgrounds. Brown and black for the earth, various shades of green for the pastures, and blue and white for the sky."
A row of tiny houses lined the edge of the property, and as I was painting a swath of dark-brown lowlights where they would eventually be, I asked Mack about them. "What are those tiny buildings? They look like houses, but they're too small. Are they used for storage?"
"Oh, those are cabins employees can stay in if they want to," he said.
"I thought all the employees lived in Riverbend."
"Well, most of us do, but when calving season comes, there's always more work than the locals can handle, so Mr. Hutchinson hires travelers from out of town."
"Like Frank Hill?"
Now it was Mack's turn to look surprised. He spit out some of his chewing tobacco juices onto the ground and nodded his head. "Yeah, like Frank. He showed up here last calving season and decided to stay on. Most of them leave, but every now and then one will stick."
"What do you think of him?" My curiosity had to know, and Mack was someone whose opinion I trusted. He was honest and down to earth, like a father figure should be.
Running his foot along the ground, as if drawing a pattern, Mack thought long and hard. The he rubbed his hirsute jaw and said, "He's a man who likes to keep to himself. A loner. He never joins us down at the Lucky Horseshoe for a drink Friday nights. He just holes up in that cabin and never comes out until it's time to work again."
"Does he have a wife or children?" I held my breath.
Mack didn't even have to take the time to think. He just shook his head and said "Nope. No wife or girl that he ever talks about. I showed him a picture of Becky holding my first grandson, and he didn't even say congratulations. Why? Do you know him?"
"He's a stranger to me. I was just curious." It wasn't exactly a lie, but with a man as good as Mack I felt guilty for leaving out the other half of the truth.
"Well, he's a stranger to me, too. He's been here ten months and I don't know anything more about him than I did the day he arrived."
"Thanks, Mack," I said gratefully. It hadn't been what I'd wanted to hear, but it had been the truth. Frank Hill didn't talk about me, but then again he didn't talk about much else, either. Was it really such a crime to be quiet? Maybe he was shy or just liked his privacy. Maybe he was ashamed and regretted leaving.
For the next several days, I asked as many people as I could what Frank Hill was like. Did he drink? Did he chase women? Did he like to read? Did he go to the movies? Nobody seemed to know. Frank Hill was a loner, plain and simple.
I decided to change tactics and find out what kind of an employee was he. Did he clock in for his shift early? Did he stay until the job was done or was he looking to leave just as soon as he could? Was he strong? Was he smart? Was he loyal?
"Why are you asking so many questions about the employees?" William’s eyes narrowed at the dinner table. The officer in the house had a sharp sense for anything suspicious, and I felt myself sink lower in my chair.
Brett was quick to my defense. "She's not asking about the employees. Just one particular employee."
I should have known the brother with a crush on me wouldn't let any details about me slip past.
"Leave her alone guys," Colton said sternly and tried to change the subject. "The vet said the neighboring ranch has a verified case of Brucellosis. He's got a new shipment of antibiotics and recommends we vaccinate the herd."
"Won't paying for antibiotics screw up our profit margin?" Margie was worried.
"Not as much as losing the herd," Tom chimed in. "Several kids in my class had to miss school because of Brucellosis last year. It's serious stuff."
"Not as serious at that mother whose kid you were tutoring the other day. She was seriously hot," William teased his brother, and Tom shot him an angry glare
"Dear Lord, I pray we don't get an epidemic here," Margie said, and clutched Brett's hand to her left and Colton's hand to her right. The men grabbed hold of the hand of the person sitting next to them, and before I knew it, we were all holding hands in a giant circle around the table.
It was the kind of unity and caring I always wished for growing up and never had. Margie closed her eyes, and her five sons all followed suit. I just stared in awe, having been raised by a mother who surely would have been struck by lightning if she ever stepped foot inside a church.
Margie said a quick prayer, and when everyone opened their eyes, somehow a cornbread muffin was missing off of William’s plate.
"Where the hell is my cornbread?" He glared right at Tom, but the school teacher held up his hands to prove that he was innocent.
Margie sighed heavily and rolled her eyes at William. "Don't swear right after praying. Now who the hell stole food while we were praying? Don't you know that's a sin?"
"Mama, what the hell did you just say?" Colton teased, causing an uproar of laughter from around the table.
She blushed bright red for having been caught doing the exact thing she was admonishing her son not to do. Brett pulled it out from under his napkin and threw it across the table, starting an impromptu food fight.
It was a joyous scene filled with laughter and love. The warmth of family filled my heart, and I wished more than ever that I could be a part of one. Margie had done her best to make me feel welcome, and her sons did, too; but the truth was I wasn't one of them. I was just a guest at their family table. My own family was broken and spread across the States.
My mother resented me for driving away her husband. My father had abandoned us both and was now working on a cattle ranch, unaware of my proximity.
As food flew across the air amongst laughter, I realized more than ever just how important family was. My mother had told me to stay away from my father, but I believed deep in my heart that was just because she was afraid of being hurt again.
Well, I was tired of being afraid and alone. First thing tomorrow morning, I was going to do the thing I came here to do: I was going to confront Frank Hill and tell him I was his daughter and find out once and for all if he wanted to be my father.